


We Were Warriors

by Thel0calbard



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Anglo-Saxon mythology as well, Arthurian legend - Freeform, Blood Drinking, Comfort/Angst, Comment and leave suggestions, Definitely AU, F/M, Flashbacks, Graphic, Historical references galore, It's Hellsing it's gonna have violence, London war, Many cultures and religions ancient and modern, Many mythologies, My First Work in This Fandom, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Pls comment so I can see what needs to be done., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quite a few OC's, Relationships develop somewhat fast but with caution, Rip me to shreds in reviews if you feel like it. Literally tear me a new one!, Sex, TFS References, Update schedules are just words., War, Welsh inspired mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thel0calbard/pseuds/Thel0calbard
Summary: The world has changed so much in 1999. Hellsing has found itself between a rock and a hard place. But so have other major players that have been sidelined. The past two years before Millenium's unmasking was a mysterious and chaotic time across the world. Within the limited space Hellsing conducts itself is turning into an alien and standoffish land. A brave new world if you will. Alucard had been on many missions but those couple of years are something he is not so fond of, but the people he saw and met were more than interesting... in fact, they were amusing. Yet this conflicts with the powers that be and now creates many problems for Hellsing and possibly the world over. There are many secrets that Hellsing has but so do the other factions here. But the skeletons have finally have come out of the closet for one last time to dance the mad dance of death and dragon's fire!Leave a comment to help out with anything you think could help the story.
Relationships: Integra Hellsing/Original Character(s), Pip Bernadotte/Seras Victoria, Seras Victoria/Original Character(s), Yumiko Takagi/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. A Harkening To The Dark Past

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Anything branded or historical is not mine. Pls, no lawyers. Leave a review or kudos if you feel like it! I'm open to criticism and suggestions. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue: All things dead and buried come back to haunt us. For better or worse. The Hellsing organization was hit hard by the Valentine brothers' attack on the manor but Integra has a few vague memories of certain people to call up. Sadly she forgot they come from places that aren't fond of England.

**Yr Hen Ogledd, Britannia 435 A.D.**

It was a cold, rainy day. Painful and baleful. A lonely teenage boy with a hardened, young stood in his attire of a plaid cloak and fibula clasp with a linen shirt and linen pants. He overlooked a battlefield's leftovers in the valley near the water. This was a small hill near the waters of the loch itself but the boy started walking down the hill and looked at one of the islands on the mass of water. The water was calm and the fog was moving in and a shape moved in the water. A ship, a small one but a ship no less. It had someone laying on the back and several shrowded figures over him.

_A kingly man._

The boy grimaced as his lip quivered. His eyes were stinging with grief. But it was not his place yet. No mourning was to be done without the important things in the way. He finally walked down and into the remains of a conflict. Many broken bodies laid around with blood and guts staining their chainmail and tunics. This was a different battle than he was accustomed to dealing with after it. 

He held a sword in his hands. It was a double-edged one with a capital I pommel. It was a typical design for the time but it was decorated. The guard had a bright opal slab between gold pieces and nailed in with this to form this crossguard. The handle was made of Ashwood and was carved for finger grooves. The pommel was similar to the guard but at the last part of it was the sort of triangle shape with a flat top. This piece had garnet squares with gold lining making patterns of Dragons and crosses and maybe a few Celtic symbols. This was on both sides of the piece and even on the flat top was a dragon holding an early Christogram. This seemed to glow a threatening red as he looked at it. 

The young teen wondered what to do with it.

There was the Loch in front of him... 

He grunted and thought it over. Then proceeded to throw it into the water, while shouting. 

Soon it made a splash and the fog started to thicken.

He started to wonder what the future held for him. 

Where was he to go? Who will help him? 

Would he ever see his father again?

It was a depressing, quiet place that made the pain grow deeper. The crows sounded in the distance as he started to think harder.

But the boy felt the hair on his arms rise and his skin tingle. 

He looked around and saw a woman in black in the distance... with red, glowering eyes. 

Her gaze had unleashed a raging river of unease sweeping through the teen.

The smile was worse on her face. Sure she was an attractive one with her sharp features and bewitching figure. Her black garb was telling of her profession, which was typical of a _Druid._

Her smile was filled with sharp teeth... she then outstretched her hand to beckon him over. 

He looked at her like she knew the young one.

This teenager grimaced as if demanding to be left alone but he knew it was futile. 

He walked to her. They looked into each other's eyes. 

Both knew that something had to be done about whatever happened on this battlefield. 

A ripped-up banner flowed in the wind among the mass of dead men. A banner of a red dragon in the style of flowing patterns with Brythonic and early Christian symbols was on this. The boy frowned as he saw it was stained with crimson. He also looked back to the water to see the fog part and show the ship that was carrying what seemed to be a rich lord of the age being carried off and walked to somewhere to be laid to his rest.

The boy's tears began to flood down and he fell to his knees. 

The druid frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder.

His heart had essentially shattered and started to harden again. He sniffled as more tears came down. 

"TAD! Pam wnaethoch chi gymryd y cleddyf oddi wrthi?" He shouted in what sounded like an enraged whimper. 

He then looked up and screamed in pain. A pain that was deeper than any slash from a sword or any stab from couched lance could ever force itself inside. It howled around the highlands and echoed over the lake.

The supernatural druid let his breaking heart be heard. But soon they both had to go their own way home. To somewhere far south.

**Tintagel, 7:00pm. February 13th, 1999**

_A young English woman sits on a rustic bed in a cabin aesthetic room, writing in her diary with a pondering look to her somewhat boyish, freckled face._

Rose's diary log 1,000: Recap of my life in Cornwall, a new Welsh state that was recently established. 

"Dear diary,

It's been a busy day working at the dock from sun up to sundown and I need sleep but I have lived in Cornwall for 3 weeks and now I can say with absolute certainty I am living in an alternate world. The people here speak Welsh or Cornish. But are also good at the English language as well. This has given me a new view of how England differs from this land I immigrated to. No wonder the borders are so restrictive. I had to pay a hefty fee to get through West Seaxe and I had to give a good reason for my transit to the troops stationed at the border into Dumnonia. West Seaxe had many English people but... the language they spoke... was so alien to me. The translator at the checkpoint said those people were speaking a language called _**Anglo-Saxon** , _or Old English. It was somewhat familiar but not enough. So I had to learn the sentence _" **Yonder is wægn forweorpnes rên?** " _which means "Where is the Migration building?" It was so hard to say the words with the minor exception of "is". So I wondered what gives? Well, they said it was the past two years that have been eventful and led up to this. Not only that but there is an old Romano British fort that was reactivated. The fort was restored to a late-Roman castle style with more... modern outfittings and fortifications, such as cannons and machine guns on the towers that lined the walls. They had been rebuilding old places like this to make settlements or defensive positions. They even have their own militaries. The Welsh Uchelwyr is a warrior noble class that has been revived to defend Wales and its fellow Welsh-speaking neighbor states or Britain for that matter. These places are Strathclyde, Rheged, Dumnonia, and my residence of Cornwall. I came here because it was cheap. The people here live in a nice place compared to the eastern part of London or even west London. They are pretty accepting of me too. They all act like good neighbors rather than the wagies in Whitechapel or the snobs near Buckingham palace. The law enforcement here is rare to see but they have strange uniforms, like... weird baggy shirts with bright patterns and belts to go on the waist. They also have cloaks to conceal long guns or... battle axes? Like I stated... weird. They also have swords or long knives on their belts. You heard me. SWORDS! I shake my head but it works apparently. Many would cringe at the sight in fear and stay away. But I'm used to it now. They don't cause trouble or get high off of power and treat people right. This whole area and the neighboring places in Wessex and Mercia are wonderful places to live but the immigration is tough to get through unless it's transit. The streets and highways in Cornwall and Dumnonia are clean and well maintained from driving on them. The town is bustling with people doing business and any sort of recreation. I've seen two soldiers wrestling each other in the streets for honor or something too. The culture is unique too. It's a mix of Welsh and Roman as people told me. There is even a separate church that has Brittonic pagan stuff in it. It's a breath of fresh air to the life I lived before. I could get used to living here. There was a strange thing many of the elders talk about. They keep talking about a "great man" named Anarawd Pendragon. I heard a few things about him and what he was. He was a politician that was popular with the Welsh after WW2. He was a war hero that was spurred on to the political landscape. He advocated for England to give Wales its autonomy and even for its independence. He succeeded but was exiled soon after. The history of that place is mysterious and strange. But I could care less really. I'm happy for more human rights here and the cheap living. Better than whatever pipe dream of whatever the prime minister can pull out of his arse. 

Sincerely, Rose.

P.S. My boss is a strange herbalist who watches birds sometimes. She's nice though. Not only that, she dresses like a witch."

She put down the pen and cracked her window open. It was a nice day but She saw the streets of Tintagel were busy with noise. Some of it was a thrum of motorcycle engines. She looked down the street to a more open part of the town and sees glittering metal on the motorcycles and their riders. They ride closer and start to pass through. Rose had still been surprised by their presence here but now it was becoming more common. The band had made it into town. They wore scale armor and chainmail. She hadn't seen these soldiers before. Not only that but they had dark age-looking helmets with brass-colored fittings for the nasal guard and cheek plates attached to the helmet. They looked like those roman helmets she saw in the museum. And they have guns strapped to their backs, some sort of Roman-looking long one-handed sword, and an oval shield strapped to his elbow with a P with an X crossed together. Rose had no idea what this was. She knew it was part of a military program here but not like this. "What the bloody hell?" She asked in her squeaky cockney accent. The Warband shouted something unintelligible. The leader with the most decorated armor with a red feather crest on his helmet raised his sword towards the castle and shouted. "Follow me you fucking wallies. We've got a job to do!" and raced off for the castle with his Warband. "That is something you don't see every day. Crazy cockers." She got back into her home and pondered on what it was that she saw. She was _so confused. Why_... why would a modern army do that? She started to think more but the weight of a once busy day wore on her. Rose knew her time to sleep had come and done so.

**Hellsing Manor, 4:00 pm**

Integra and Pip dug through all of the files to see if they could find anything on Millenium but the past two years have been chaos, Politically and socially. France was even worse off from the news that came from just south of England shores in Normandy. Integra's glasses glowered in the dark as she shone a flashlight on dusty files. She read through each alphabetical order. She was on the K and J sections. She sifts through them endlessly but finds a file titled: "Kosovo Incident". 

It was tempting to open. Integra hadn't been too involved in it, much to the ire of her servant vampire But she knew it was a vampire outbreak in the Balkans that happened during a festival. The chaotic first week was awful. The survivors had managed to form armies and fight back or so was thought. She sighed. "So... this is what disappointed Alucard. I think a few peeks wouldn't be so bad." She opened it and a few incomplete files had formed a certain picture. Pip was done trying to look and had joined to see what she might have found. She read attentively and was gripped. Iscariot and the Vatican had interests in Bosnia and Serbia during the final days and a photo accompanied the snippet. It detailed some things the Catholics tried to hide. "Pip... you know about The Hellsing Organization's rival, correct?" Integra asked inquisitively. 

The Frenchman had razed his brow. "Oui...?" 

"Take a look at this." She had raised the photo and he could see a peculiar and awful sight.

It was a battlefield with many bodies. It was covered in blood and ash. The photo document states this was near Croatia. Some were dressed in undeterminable uniforms and others were obviously vampires and ghouls with normal civilian attire. However, there were surviving soldiers and one of them was dressed with lamellar with chainmail armor under the lamellar. This soldier had a helmet that was like a French WW1 helmet but seemed byzantine in design with a feather plume and the soldier's face was obscured by his chainmail Balaklava. The armored soldier had lamellar vambraces that fresh bullet marks on them. Pip gave a shocked expression as he looked at the lamellar cuirass again... there were bullet marks and scrapes. "Mon Dieu!" 

Integra stood and stared in wondrous curiosity. They both look at the soldier's weapon belt below. A Viking-style sword, a smaller two-handed ax that he was grabbing from his belt, and an assault rifle. A shield was on the back too. Pip scratched the back of his neck. "Imagine if Alucard sees this..." She bet he had. Then it hit her. "Well... he might already have seen something like this... but not me..." Pip looked with pervasive wonder and deja vu. "Wait... I've _heard_ of this. France had an uprising several months ago and a small kingdom broke away when they signed a peace treaty." Pip motioned at the picture in a moment of realization. "They had stuff like this!"

Integra pondered but then shook her head attentively. "Really?"

Pip gave a small nod. "I was talking to a French soldier when I came to pick up your contract in Paris. The soldier talked about Normands or known now as _Normans._ He said that they were mercenaries that sailed up the Mediterranean from the Balkans after the Serbian 'terrorist' uprisings. The Normans managed to fight alongside other warbands that popped up and had strange equipment. Then the uprising reached them. Several fights and skirmishes had gone on for days. But it was mostly in vain. Many were sent to slave camps and whatnot. But he didn't know much else in the time in between. It's mostly rumored but after a month or two of fighting their way out the warbands had gone to war against Croatia after they invaded Bosnia and tried to push for Serbia. One of the warbands closely tied and allied to the Normans had their leader die in battle and the next one was someone close and this guy swore vengeance on the ones who killed him... all I know that they went on the warpath through Dobruja were many Croatian militias and terrorist and rushed all the way to Croatia fighting anyone who stood in their way. After that campaign, those troops went far and wide from Russia to Britain to look for more work and found it in France. The Normans were then hired to deal with some rebels but were shafted when it came to paying. Then they rebelled and almost sacked Paris. But the Normans aimed for more than what they could reach. The Normans used strange tactics. Such as using motorcycles like medieval cavalry..."

Integra raised a brow with a bemused look. "That sounds foolish."

He shook his head. "It fucking worked too. Believe it or not... They used guns, swords, and lances but used weird tactics to win. They were crazy bastards led by a crazier bastard... William Kristiansen or known as "The dreaded bastard from Norway"." Integra's face was blank with confusion and even deeper thought. "Well... that... I need to read up more about this event... Was there more to this?"

Pip smiled. "Yeah. There were insurrections in Newfoundland, North Dakota, and Alaska. There was a war band led by the same man that burnt down Croatia. The CIA hired them and I almost took the contract to fight alongside them. I saw a photo of one of the warlords that came from a new noble class in Wales called the _Uchelwyr_ and used similar tactics to the Normans but with a more Post-Roman Britain twist to their equipment. I think I have the photo somewhere..." Pip raced off and grabbed it from his room. He then bolted back. "Here! See this?" He held it out and Integra looked closely after adjusting her glasses. "Well... that is something you don't see every day!" She announced in a surprised but excited manner. The soldier or ranked officer in question was covered head to toe in armor. He had segmented arm plates, a steel anatomical shaped cuirass for his torso, more segmented armor for his legs, and had held a gold inlaid raised ridge with metal pillar-like bars holding the flat ridge from the back of the head to the beginning of the nose guard up with glass gems that had a dragon symbol as one of them with a few other unidentified symbols. This helmet with very thick cheek plates that curved with the shape of the back of the skull and had no backplate. The nasal guard was in a subtle trefoil shape and riveted on with a brow shape to the helmet. It had a flat metal ridge with gems on it that were raised up by metal bars. The chap was handsome, long, black hair with sharp features. He had a confident smile and had a fresh scar on his cheek and it looked recently bandaged. Integra marveled at how someone could smile so wide with a scar like that. Pip looked at his boss. "How did they fight vampires and live?" Integra looked like she was smacked upside the head. She tried to feign surprise.

"What do you mean?" She looked at somewhat forced innocence. Pip was not buying into her game. "I know the words 'Bio-Terrorists or terrorist' is another code for vampires. So please tell me. How did they do it?" Integra sighed. "We don't have full info, so any attempt to know is almost impossible... unless we go westward to Uchelwyr and Anglo-Saxon territory." Pip shifted to his right. "I'm betting it's not in our jurisdiction?"

Integra closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn't gonna have a good night. "Correct assumption. But a few months ago we got Seras out of Cheddar because the governor of Wessex requested we save an English settlement there. But it was destroyed anyway. Now the 'Anglo-Saxons' hold it... in fact their territory in Wessex almost reaches London. But the county of Somerset belongs to the province of Dumnonia. That is ruled by Arthur Pendragon. He is the one that is less cautious about immigration and with all the money I can get gathered up I could bribe the Anglo Saxons to send me to the border and go to Exeter." Pip took a cigarette out and whipped out his lighter. "You mean there are Englishmen... who identify as their migration era counterparts and speak Old Anglo-Saxon English? Jesus... well then we have to go through, legal or not. If they can get us some info then we need then we can see if they sign contracts or treaties." Integra had a visible frown. "No, any forces from the queen are not allowed and they would know because of the ongoing patrols they have along the border. English Police aren't even allowed. That's why we need to bribe some of them. Also, the Queen is..." She shook her head. " _unpopular_ with them, so to speak" Pip took a deep puff. And let the smoke out of his nose. He was tired of all this compensating for tricky variables. Sure he had a **mentally unstable** **vampire acquaintance** and a _free spirit vampire woman_ he loved but this was ridiculous. All the shenanigans behind closed doors and all that... it was exhausting. "Where there is a will, there is a way. Now let's look."

They went back to hurriedly checking files for more info on these mercenaries. It opened up more questions than answers. There were photos of more soldiers with wildly ranging armor aesthetics. One group has a more Roman appearance. This was a war band on the battle plains and it seemed they were under-equipped for the fight. But they were determined. Their equipment was fancier than what they've seen so far. The abdomen armor was an assortment of scale armor, chainmail, and plate carriers. This was a common unit it seemed but the helmets were ornate. The helmets were very well made too because these were brass-colored or gold-colored for the troops with a baseline design of a Late-Roman ridge helmet. The orderly design of it was telltale of that design's origin. Not only that but the designs that were engraved or gold or silver inlined patterns. The shirts they wore were intriguing. Some had strange patterns that the resolution of the camera could not fully make out but the more important details were in the shirts they wore under the armor were either a deep red or a white with red patterns. The officers wore darker colors like Blue and had dark red with scenes sown in. All had shields that were oval-shaped and appeared to be metal-covered. Many shields had early Christian symbols or possibly pagan symbols painted on them. One of the men had a signifer strapped to his back hidden behind the first line in this shield wall. It was a dragon or serpent's head on a stick basically. It had a flowing, red windsock. Their armor was damaged from gunfire but not broken through. Their helmets seem to have blackened bullet marks from deflection points. The shields were also hit. The duo looking at this photo glossed over one other thing. "Mon Dieu! the guy's gun up front, his barrel's warped!" The assault rifle on his back was indeed warped. The barrel was not the usual normal metal color but rather a harsh and rough scale color with the metal shaved and seemingly close to melting down. Integra guffawed as she noticed as well. How many bullets were fired? They looked at the other soldiers were most likely out of ammo. Some had guns that were red but not to the point of breaking the gun. 

"Well... that's quite telling." She managed to say with great effort. They found another photo... It was a Norman knight holding the bleeding head of a vampire up with a smile on his face. Yeah, something new to them. The Norman in question seemed so young. He seemed 17 at least. This teen has black peach fuzz with messy, short black hair. His face looked sharp and well defined... very handsome for his sort of profession. His soft blue eyes could tell gentle stories of how he decapitated an undead beast to lul a child to sleep. 

"Oh. My. God." Integra said with utter horror on her face. Pip blinked at the last photo and flipped to the next one in this batch.

The last photo. Thank God, the last one for the day. They held it up to the lamplight and Integra was the first to look the scene over. It was the waning of winter with light snow and a return of the sun. A beautiful sight indeed. In the center, there was a tall man in a plate carrier with shoulder plates, chainmail, and a helmet with a face mask with a mustache and detailed ocular holes. There was a neck guard on the back of the helmet that went down to the shoulders as any Dark Age helmet would. He also had a decorated metal round shield being held upright with his right hand. The helmet was definitely from the dark age. It was riveted with gold borders. The panels told a story that could not be seen. The cheek plates also were like this as well and the face mask... oh lord the mask. The mustache, mouth, nose, brows, and ridge on the helmet were glittering with gold and steel. The brows had illustrious red diamonds on the bottom lining. They shined like the sun itself. The right side caught the most attention though, for it had a slash from the brow to mustache level. The left side had two small cuts to the lower cheek/jaw area. The ocular ports revealed the right eye was covered with a bandage but not over the eye. The eyes of this soldier were seemingly brown but the distance made it hard to tell. The rest of the soldier could be seen at least. His Anglo-Saxon tunic was a light brown with a colorful collar semi-concealed by chainmail and the plate carrier. It went over the hip area as well and he had dirt and grass-stained jeans covering his legs with worn, tan working boots. The biceps area of the chainmail shirt seemed to slightly strain and the forearm was similar but somewhat baggy. His legs were seemingly bulky too. The armor looked somewhat tight in general. The only difference being the helmet. His weapons were fascinating too. He rested his left arm on a large ax with a broad head that swept up like the prow of a longship. The edge was polished while the rest of the ax head was blackened and had an inlay pattern outlining a Viking pattern of a dragon. Then there was a sword at his hip. It was a Decorated migration era sword that was a bit hard to discern. Then there was a knife and the right side too. It seemed to be a big bowie knife. Then they saw a cloak on him with a cloak clasp on the left shoulder with rubies decorating the flat parts at the end of the humps. This was made of gold. Integra's Jaw was slack and they looked in the background. There are soldiers in chainmail or even in lamellar and chainmail with guns resting at their right side and their left hands resting on the pommels of their swords. Many have riveted nasal helmets or ridge helmets with a nasal bar with fixed plates that went down to the length of their chin or just went straight to their jaw and exposed most of their faces. They all had nasal guards. Some would only be nose length or would reach to the mouth. Some were decorated with brass or silver. Their armor had some brass-colored cuffs or some sort of finish color pattern for the metal. It was all of the elite soldiers that were upfront. The man in the center... with that masked helmet. He led them, no doubt about it. Now the questioning could begin. 

_Who is th_ _is_ _?_ Integra thought, concluding. A conclusion that led Integra to her servant.

"These guys came dressed to kill... literally," Pip said observantly. "Yes, that they did. I just wonder what Alucard would think." 

The one-eyed Frenchman looked at her as if she were insane. "Oh lord... you're not kidding?"

Integra could only smirk as her glasses glowered. "It wouldn't hurt to ask him some night soon," She looked into Pip's blue eyes with hers. "besides, we could use some sort of _insight_."

They had then gone through some more things and came across a few letters and papers. All were about troop movements and memoirs sent home. they were consigning these to further investigation for later. 

**New Caerdydd, North-Eastern Nebraska. 7:00pm**

A young man was riding on his motorcycle from the fitness center in the south of this now developing town. The man had medium-length light brown hair that was shaggy with a bit of a curl to the locks. His face was one that some would shiver with fear at seeing or if they looked at his fiery hazel eyes then they would have fainted if he looked at them wrong. He had strong, but young and slightly sharp features with a light tan to his skin. His skin was a bit rough but his scars were the things that screamed at your eyes first. One deep scar over his right eye but the eye was fortunately unscathed, the second on his left cheek were two parallel cuts that ran down to his jaw from his cheek, and then one scar across the bridge of his nose. He had a mustache with a soul patch but he also had stubble. He was riding down a long street seeing many businesses and homes. The town seemed to be growing out but many of the buildings within seemed to be poverty-stricken and run down. But in all of the businesses were bustling with activity. People young and old had gathered up and down the walkways to talk about sports, politics, the latest trend, or anything really. Their voices were a mixed sound of the east coast and midwestern dialects and accents. The sun was close to setting on this day. It rested upon the rolling hills that surrounded the town. The young man rode further down the main street and into the outskirts. the town had grown after a recession hit when coastal raiders sacked New York and Boston. It was crazy how such a thing could happen. The young man looked around at the town and saw the new shops and a re-opened factory with smoke coming from the stacks. His mind started to wander as he put his eyes back on the road. It was somewhat busy after all. 

First, they came from Iceland and Norway, then they fought against the Coast guard, then the navy, and finally raided into New York. Boston was razed after they plundered Newe York and marched North-east. Many were displaced and had to migrate inland. Some just went to the midwest for safety, others went to neighboring countries or close by. The raiders numbered in the tens of thousands and made people of all walks of life migrate west with their invasion threatening to creep behind them. The young man looked around to see his town had turned from a town of rednecks with a few immigrants to a town with diversity and cultures far and wide. He couldn't be any happier about it. The world was changing all around and so were people. The raids ended a month ago when the army came in and drove them into the Atlantic and managed to chase them out of the western Atlantic. 

Now the consequences of a slow reaction were reaped. And not much was different besides many people migrating inland to towns like New Caerdydd. This was a small town full of rednecks and other hillbilly types. Humble folk, but uneducated, and many of the jobs they had left long ago to far lands they could hardly point to on a map. But now it was growing at a breakneck speed. The jobs they thought would never come back, came back. Many realized they all weren't that different after all. But hate still existed. First, it was ignorant hate for what was different, be it skin deep or with a funny accent, Then it was the difference in ways of life, and finally, it was down to the disparity between groups. Now hate and fear is dying down. But it always goes down in flames.

There was a sudden commotion that snapped him back to reality. There was a gang of black and Latin-American bikers at the bar in town fighting a more "diverse" set of rednecks emblazoned with pro-confederate paraphernalia-styled clothing followed by their fellow...

"Oh dear God." The young man had said with a deep voice, with an accent that couldn't be placed easily but was certainly midwestern in nature. it was another run-in with a group he encountered before. It was rather annoying to be back at it but here they were. He pinched his nose with an exasperated sigh. "These fuckers again?"

He stopped his motorcycle at the curb and sat up as passers-by looked on. One of the bystanders looked at him with ever-growing curiosity in his blue eyes. The young man was a good quarter body above the man with his average height around six foot tall. The civilian looked at this imposing teenager in front of him. This younger man in question then looked him in the eyes as he noticed some people starting to stare at the only one who dared step into this mess. The young man looked into the shorter man's eyes with a disappointed look. The older man had finally seen the scars on his face and even faint ones on his neck as well. _He's been through something before_. thought the older bystander. The young man then smirked after seeing this older man with enough bravery to not break the stare and said. "These guys, am I right?" Pointed his thumb and motioned towards the gangs that were fighting. The older man felt a bit safer after this sort of disarming gesture. The young man, however, kept walking towards the fight. 

The young man studied the fight itself. Seeing what parameters could have sparked this. The closer he got the more he recognized what seemed like a bunch of angry, bald bar patrons who got too drunk and started fighting had started to take a more comically ridiculous form. He definitely recognized this group. They all had wife beaters, black leather jackets, and worn, dated working boots on. They had shaved their heads and had almost undiscernible tattoos on their heads or hands or wherever. After squinting his eyes they took a more defined and detailed shape... maybe across? A cross wheel? Oh, wait... it's\even worse. 

"Skinheads. The racist kind too. Oh goody." He said with the utmost sarcasm he could summon.

They had swastikas or other fascistic signs that marked them as failed members of society. He had a few at highschool. They were a divided group. One was, of course, the meathead racists or the working class, peace-loving types. Sadly the peace-loving and humble working-class skinheads were pushed out by the idiots who think having a different skin tone equals some perverted idea in their warped minds, sadly for them, they weren't the pinnacle they so idolized. They were bald and overweight or skinny as a matchstick although a few were physically fit looking. They didn't have blonde hair but had blue eyes or some had brown eyes. Others had hooked noses than sharp noses like those posters they had around the school. The young man laughed to himself. Knowing these types of people. "So much for their ubermensch, huh?" 

The black and brown bikers though were different. They were fit or somewhat overweight. They had few tattoos and wore black leather jackets with a symbol of a prowling black panther or a black fist raised. One had a lapel pin with the words "black power" on it. They must have come from California. 

The young man's eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. "Well, I'll be damned, it's the Black Panthers. That's new." The fight intensified as punches were thrown and blunt objects were gathered up now. Teeth were kicked in and bones were snapped. The young man stepped closer as they brawled like mad dogs.

One of the Black Panthers had brought out an iron bar and swung at the tall, stocky confederate dressed teen with blonde hair. Sadly the strike was caught and he pulled his right arm, ready to punch. The Black power biker was at the mercy of the right-wing bastard. But then he was under a shadow of a slightly taller man. A bigger fish...

Suddenly the tall skinhead was pulled by the shoulder and was thrown back. "Howdy, ye fuckin' chud!" He looked up at his new oppressor and saw someone he remembered. "Constantine... YOU CARPETBAGGER!" He saw the wry grin on his face and felt his face burn. "Jethro, at least I don't associate with inbreds, like those yuppies at school." Jethro then got up on his feet and got ready to fight.

"I'm gonna crack your ribs!" Jethro roared as he charged forward, too enraged to use better judgment and could only see red as he rushed at him. Constantine got his left foot back and readied for it. Jethro threw a punch with his left arm and Constantine grabbed the arm and put his right foot in front of Jethro's leading foot.

The trap was made and already set off. 

He pulled the arm upward and away while flexing and stiffening his leg to unbalance the redneck.

Jethro kissed the ground as expected. The others were too busy fighting to care. 

Constantine laughed at Jethro's expense.

"You've gotta try harder little guy. Heh..."

An angry grunt was his only reply.

Jethro was strung up by his left hand as he was held like a small, petulant child throwing a tantrum while one of Constantine's feet pushed one of his legs down. Jethro seemed still. "Huh... whaddya know? The good ol' boy is dow-"   
With a sudden motion, Jethro reached for something when he pulled up his pant leg and a gleam shone.

The downed redneck then quickly slashed with the object at the man towering above him and clamped his ... it was a Dirk dagger, a Scottish one at that. He seemed to have it in an icepick grip Some droplets of blood splattered out as Constantine let go when the slash was thrown. 

The once-dominant young man had calf had been cut open and blood was slightly flowing. Jethro had his blade's flat hugging his forearm as if trying to hide it. "So, you gonna dance boy?" He asked in his southern-sounding accent. 

Constantine had stuck his hands up and motioned to his motorcycle. "I need a knife to make this fair." Jethro raised a brow and looked to see the saddlebag that was unlocked on the side of the large motorcycle. "Ok... go get it."

His foe quickly got to the steel horse and grabbed a knife... a big one. He slowly took it out of the sheath. This hefty piece of craftsmanship was a bowie knife... Jethro could recognize the design. It was based on the one he saw at the Smithsonian when he was a little kid. Its blade was glowering with a mirror finish and a brass back seamlessly bound to the steel and the brass lugged guard that was with a stag handle. The tip was a clip point, the blade had no fuller, and the 4-inch top edge of the clip was sharpened too. It was like any normal western bowie knife. But the knife had to be 18 inches in total. The blade was 12 inches long it seemed. The damn thing could stick out of someone's back if the poor bastard was gutted. The handle had a brass lug pommel with a straight, laminated stag horn handle. Jethro then remembered another thing. 

"I remember the first fight you had outside of our school. You had a steak knife and that one jock had a bat. You barely won... But now that I got you here..." He flourished his dirk and got in an MMA-style stance and got down low for explosive speed.

"I'll cut you to fucking ribbons for making me lose that bet."

Constantine simply put his knife in a reverse grip and stretched his arms 

"Correct... But I wouldn't cash in my chips just yet... ya dumb hick." He smiled and Jethro also smirked with deranged eyes. "Yeah, come and get some boy!" They charged at each other. Jethro launched his attack with lightning speed. He swings from the right to swing his forearm while steeping. Constantine was too slow. He jabs Constantine's side but only managed to hit a rib. Jethro jumps back and plans his next scheme.

"Aw... that was a good jacket. Plus you need to commit to a stab more." Constantine then somewhat bends forward in a slight crouch and watches his prey... he's fast and decisive but maybe inexperienced. Constantine switches the grip to a hammer grip. If he could quickly use his knife he can do all sorts of _fun_ things.

"You gonna sit there Jethro? Come to me." He motions and relaxes in posture. Even to where he outstretches his arms. 

His opponent laughs and charges again. This time Constantine watches the blade and the arm. He somewhat telegraphs his move by holding it over his left shoulder. Constantine then bursts forward and grapples the right arm and swings his knife with a back edge slap to the triceps. It lands and blood splashes and drips. "DAMMIT! You fucker!" He held his torn arm and looked. "It isn't deep enough... I'll make you bleed more!"

He goes again. This time he puts his dirk in a normal grip and feints several times after zig-zagging. Then he starts to stab from the right. But it was caught by Constantine and he stabs up towards the side of Jethro. He managed to somewhat stop it but it wasn't enough for it to hit any major organs or important arteries

Dark blood dripped down. Jethro looked at his side. Constantine looked at his high school frienemy.

"Look at me." He said in a commanding voice

Jethro didn't hear him through the searing pain in his side and his gobsmacked response. "Oh no." Only an inch of the blade was in his side and the blood started to come out. 

"LOOK AT ME."

Jethro snapped out of his trance and looked into the dark, narrowed eyes of his former high school acquaintance, who had a sadistic, and indifferent closed smile, which transformed into a wide, gleeful grin with his sharp teeth and somewhat long canines showing themselves. Jethro looked in horror 

"Get fucked." 

He withdrew his bowie knife and blood started to splatter down and he pulled back a punch and socked him on the jaw, knocking him out. Causing him to fall and the Black panther that was attacked by Jethro was standing with his mouth open. Others were gawking at the fight. The skinheads were starting to look uppity though. They circled Constantine. Like hungry, desperate coyotes.

One charged behind... only to be stabbed in the gut after a switch in grip by this upstart yet a battle-hardened young man. He twisted the knife in and ripped it out. Blood sprayed and guts were almost spilled after the gaping wound was opened. It makes a sickening "SPLURCH' noise as it did so. He fell, holding his insides in.

He slipped into unconsciousness as he bled the ground. The others looked on in horror. The black panthers had no idea if this guy was here to help or just to feel the rush of a fight. The skinheads were scared shitless now. They started to surround again... Two attacked. But he slashed once and cut deep into one of the assailant's chests. Then he poked the other's eye out as he got close. The two writhed in pain and scattered away. One more came but Constantine punched him and broke his nose. The other skinheads knew this battle was lost. They got beat back to where they came by the bikers. Constantine sheathed his knife and looked around at the remnants of the fight. The ground had some blood and teeth on the concrete. 

Now it was done. The somewhat deadly brawl is over. Jethro was being helped up by the black panther medic and sirens were sounding on the street. The two groups that were once fighting were now done fighting and now limped back home. There were teeth, blood, and some people on the ground knocked out of course. The cop cars came first and they all started to point guns all around. Not knowing who to trust... or maybe to assert their "dominance" over an imagined enemy. The ambulance showed up and Jethro was being walked up there. Constantine walked there too. Jethro sat at the entrance. 

"Hey, I wanna apologize," Jethro said first, in a different accent. As if breaking the illusion. He now sounded like he was from the western states... possibly California.

Constantine looked as if he was slapped by his mother or someone close. "What? I'm the one who cut you up and stabbed you."

Jethro shook his head. "No. I was looking for a fight. You happened to be there."

Constantine realized something. "You really aren't an inbred... are you?" 

"Nah... Just LARPing as one. I've gotta blend in somehow." He raised his hands in surrender. "Besides, you've got baggage yourself." 

Jethro truly saw through him. He could see damaged goods when he took a good look. "How did you get good with a knife like that?"

Constantine thought about it...

"If I told you I'd have to kill you." He said with dark eyes. His low and serious tone came out and Jethro arched a brow. 

Then a smirk lit up on Jethro's face and he tilted his head down questioningly. "Really?"

Officers had started to move through and made their way to the ambulance to question the people involved.

"Can you boys tell us what happened here?" One of the cops asked. He looked like a heavy-set guy. You know, not much. 

"I don't know what happened but I think this little guy can tell you." Constantine offered, pointing to his defeated opponent.

Jethro quickly responded with his fake accent again. "Yeah. The skinheads started it."

_Easy answers come in many voices I guess._ Constantine thought to himself.

The cop didn't buy it. "Really? With all these _thugs_ around?" He pointed at the black panthers and other bikers.

Constantine got up close. The cop had his hand on the gun in his holster. 

Constantine takes out his wallet, slowly. He takes a card folder out.

"Look. If you let those... "thugs" go," He put air quotes on his statement. "Then I can make your life very easy, if not, I'll make it hell for you." 

The cop looked at it... "Shit... the chief just told me about these." He was sweating. 

"So which one will it be?" He offered again. 

The officer didn't hesitate. He blubbered about as the others tried to intimidate the others."We're out boys! It's all done and dusted. PACK IT UP!" The others shouted but soon fell in line. 

Jethro looked on in shock. The cop shakily handed it back and waddled back to his car.

"I said it, if I told you, I'd have to kill you." Constantine reminded his new baffled friend. "However, I could get you into a little program if you wanna know. I can trust you with the down-low stuff compared to the rest of this town."

Jethro's jaw slumped and his eyes widened. "Show me what the card is and I'll consider." 

He does so and the card looked... really official. It was in a little folder with a badge reading as " _CIA CONTRACTOR_ " and had the symbol in between "CIA" and "CONTRACTOR". A large American eagle holding arrows exclusively. Then Jethro opened it up and saw a blurred photo. "That can be viewed with special 3d technology but I don't have anything," Constantine stated matter-of-factly. 

His Conman friend had seemingly been thrown off the saddle or so to speak. This little piece of information drew a picture for him. The full name of his friend now laid bare for him. Konstantin Artur Velizariy. It intrigued him but then he moored over the rest. 

This new friendly face in front of him had been born on January 7th, 1981. 

It even gave his address. 3908 Owain St. New Caerdydd, Nebraska. This put Jethro in a spot... a tight one at that.

"Ok... I can't turn back. How about I join this program? It can't be that bad."

Constantine gave a small smile. "Wonderful for you. What is your full name? I'm gonna have to make a call about this."

Jethro nodded. "Jethro Bredei Ferguson." 

"Huh, your middle name is a Pictish one... interesting. I'll call my handler soon. You just get back home as soon as you can and rest until you get a phone call... probably 4 p.m. tomorrow. Be close to your phone." 

Jethro squinted his eyes and raised his brows. "Ok? I'll be waiting." At this point there was nothing to lose or gain for Jethro, so why not risk it? He looked at his dirk and saw it was still covered in blood. Its high carbon steel was refined but old. The edge was still perfectly sharp though. The single-edged blade seemed to be more made for outdoor activities than fighting. The blade was a bit long but also thick. It was a bit similar to a butcher's knife but could chop better. The grip was not curved in any way forward but straight but it did have a wooden guard for one, it was a sort of flat guard. The grip was lined and the pommel was a disc. A plain knife... like a clean slate, a new start. Jethro was thinking heavily on this as he had his wounds treated. Then he thought about his wound as the paramedic had come back to treat it.

Why isn't Constantine acting like he's wounded? He got cut 

Constantine then left the scene and headed back to his home. Into the wildlands away from civilization.

It was a lonely ride back, He was riding away from the town in the valley and into the small highland community close-by. He rode to the west and made a turn onto a narrow road. It was quiet and Constantine was glad it was. Life was chaos for people in this country. It didn't hurt to have a moment of peace for once. The road was covered by shadows from the sunset now at its apex. A strange, nostalgic feeling crept up his spine. A "creeped out" sort of sensation. The hair on his arm and the hair on the back of his neck stood in attention... 

He looked all around just to calm his nerves as it seemed shadows would dance a cacophonous waltz as he scanned around.

It was just him on this highway. The foliage only brustled from the wind, not anything that bumped near sundown. A few birds were chirping too.

"No big apex predator was here. It would be dead silent" He said, reassuring himself. 

He rode further and saw a mid-sized ranch home. This wasn't it, not yet. The driveway was empty. The house wasn't lit up either. "Mom and Dad aren't here yet. Must be at work, maybe?" 

He saw a gravel road leading into a field near the house and rode through this small road. He then heard something. 

**Awooo!**

Constantine smiled. It was close... he then saw a small ranch house after a little dip from the foreground. _His home_.

The front window was open and a small wolf head was seen. But it ducked down.

Constantine stopped near the garage.

He shouted, "Hey boy!"

It popped back up and howled again but it was much closer and shorter.

**OOO!**

He got up and walked to the door and opened it. 

He heard paws clatter across the tile and wood floors. He looked in the hallway and saw all of the photos of family and friends. But he looked down to his faithful and furry companion scampering to him. 

**RUFF!** It was a deep bark and it finally rounded the corner. 

This dog was huge and wolf-like. Its fur was two-toned in smokey white and black. The highlights were black but the majority of its fur was the other color. The eyes were a pale amber color. It was a very fluffy one. Deep panting noises huffed out from the dog and he was furiously wagging his tail.

Woof!

"Hey, Kane. How's my precious good boy?!" Constantine said all cute-like.

The dog gave a little woof this time and rose on his hind legs and raised the paws to meet this good boy's owner with an embrace only dogs could give. 

With a shower of licks too, of course.

"You's so happpyyy!" He said in that same tone to his faithful companion. He felt so warm and happy with finally meeting a friendly face in private. 

"You make me happy too." He smiled a soft smile.

Now that the dog's favorite human came home to take up rest. They both meandered through the entryway as it gave way to the semi-spacious living room. It had some modern decor mixed with another type of aesthetic. A modern Welsh Celtic sort of one. 

There was a wood carving of an attractive woman standing over a boiling cauldron on a fire. The woman was a redhead with an authoritative face and birds circling above. There was a carved picture of a dragon in an English and Welsh flowing design. There were a few other things but he moved on through the kitchen next to the living room on the left and found another entrance to the bedroom.

The bedroom was somewhat small and was painted gray. It had a large bed and a desk next to it. The desk had a PC on it with a medium-sized CPU next to it. There was his journal next to the keyboard too. 

_The wonders of the modern age, eh?_ Constantine thought to himself.

He saw his journal. He wondered if he should read it. 

His dog hopped up on his bed and curled up and his owner sat at the desk and flipped the book open to the cover page. A picture was there. It was him with a group of young men. One was of average height and had sharp features with stubble and neat brown hair. His calm smokey grey eyes could judge anyone caught in his gaze. But his slightly pale face looked like one you could trust. his build was a bit muscly but skinny too. "Anaraut looks so young in this."

The next was slightly taller and had similar features but had slightly longer, black hair that was swept and wild towards the back and had a thick, medium-length mustache with wild stubble. His vibrant, blue eyes could excite a room. he was definitely a hulk in his own right. His muscles strained against his tight wool tunic. His wide, devious grin would put the fear of the gods in someone. "Idwal hasn't changed much."

There were three more on the right, away from the center of the photo and two had similar builds to each other. One was big and burly and he looked larger than life with his multi-colored, matching tunic and cloak. He had long, dark brown hair with equally brown eyes."Bors... Man, he's as big as a bear."

The other was thinner and more reserved. He had sharp features easily seen due to his lack of facial hair. Also clean-shaven as well. He had shorter, curly brown hair with light brown highlights. His eyes were a sort of goldish color. "Arthur could literally make anyone gay in a second if he gave you a strange look." 

The brothers both seemingly had a tan. 

The third one was as tall as Idwal. and had some heft to him, though he was of average build. He had black hair with a somewhat boney face with some strong aspects. His eyes were green, somewhat bright like an emerald. "Rhun's lost weight since then... well since the last time we saw each other."

They all were wearing some sort of tunic under a war coat in a green or red hue. The war coats were something like a robe but basically soft armor with a metal sort of belt to keep it closed and on. The trimmings on the edges were intricate Celtic motifs and patterns that were sewn in. 

There were others in the photo. Three more, in fact. 

One was a redhead with long hair and was shirtless. His muscles were well defined but weren't huge but still there no less. His torso had blue war paint on it with a spear at his side and a wooden handle spatha sword at his hip. "Rhodri... he was always the exciting one... until... _all that shit happened."_

He sighed at the memory and looked at a ripped edge of the photo. "Never knew who took the other part. Too bad it was lost." He flipped it to the back. Seeing stanzas of a poetic told to him when he was a child. It was freeform and sweet in a way he could understand.

_My Homely Barrow is yours now_

_Warm her heart_

_She'll be yours and yours alone_

_So shed no tears for me and have no needless fears_

_Though my grave lies afar in the rain-lashed west_

_The lithely moonlight will guide my steel steed in Annwn_

_But the gods will name a path and I'll ride_

_To join Lord Arrawn and the war-god Arturius in on their wild hunt_

_With wordless tongue_

_You will hear my shouts and cries of joy_

_And you soon will come too, my dear brother_

A stinging sensation hit his eyes. He frowned at the memories trying to pour back in. Tears had threatened to fall. "I wish we didn't make that trip... but what can I do about the past?" He wiped away the tears and put it all back together. He got his flip phone out and called his handler. 

It rang for a few seconds but got answered with a click. "So... what did you do this time, Constantine?" Asked a man with a deep voice with an upper midwestern accent. 

"Hey, Frank. Had another run-in with Johnny Law and he wasn't happy that he couldn't have the usual Jim Crow fantasy."

"Oh I heard... but what do you want?"

"A guy by the name of Jethro Bredei Ferguson..."

Frank intervened in a calm voice. Devoid of caring the whole time.

"Yeah took care of it and he explained everything to me. I've had you under close watch for a week now and you keep getting in fights. You must be pretty bored, cause you're practically bullying the incompetent village idiots in town. Not that I mind or anything but you can't abuse the immunity too hard. Just be sneakier about the assault charges. Jethro on the other hand has a colorful history. He's pulled off schemes and frauds in multiple states. He stole from a white power group in Harrison Arkansas a year ago and then robbed a church a few months ago." He snickered a little 

"You really find people who have really, and I mean **really interesting** records. So I will grant him protection out of whimsy but that'll be it from me. Goodnight and stay out of trouble. I MEAN IT."

Constantine sat there with a smirk and said. "OK. See you... probably soon?" 

"Goddamm-" 

*BEEP* 

And like that this one call was over.

There was a more pressing call, sleep. He shut the light but still could see a few feet in the near pitch black of the room. 

His big fluffball of a pet was on the middle, not budging for any man, woman, or child. Constantine wasn't gonna have it 

"Ok big baby. Get outta the way for papa."

A whine was all he got. 

The dog's miffed owner got close and pushed him to the side slightly. Then told him in a quiet, yet commanding tone.

"When I tell you to GET OUTTA THE WAY, you GET!"

The dog sighed and relented. 

"Kane, we've been over this. You hog the bed worse than a drunk wine mom. And that's a lot coming from a guy like me."

A quiet growl mixed with a bark while facing the wall.

"Don't make me take you to the vet again." Kane perked up and then gave a big exhale again. "That's what I thought"

He laid down next to the dog on this soft bed and held Kane like a teddy bear. The dog wagged its tail a bit and let his ears fold back. Constantine pet Kane as he started to close his eyes. "Good night boy." 

They both drifted off as Constantine pull the covers over his head. 

_In that pitch-black, a light had shone brightly in his vision._

_It was a long hallway with paintings lining the wall. The hallway's end was dark as the wooden floorboards gleamed under the scrutiny of yellow-tinged light._

_He ventured forth with wonder. All of the paintings depicted wars, figures in history, and... a very tall man in red attire with a red cravat stood tall and a woman in a uniform with bangs and spiky hair in a ponytail at the back of her head. Their faces were indiscernible but he could see their red eyes... it was like they were staring back... (More to be updated soon.)_

**The Hellsing Manor. 10:44pm**

A tall vampire dressed in red had sat on his throne. The no-life king himself is sleeping with a frightful fit of shaking. Alucard had a dream... who knew vampires could dream? He awoke with a jump. He then broke the silence with his deep, baritone voice, "What a peculiar dream." A jovial blonde shuffled to face the monster. "What is it, master?" The bubbly draculina known as Seras asked in a calm tone. 

"I'd swear up and down that I am having deja vu right now." He answered with more amusement and wondrous curiosity to remember.

He rubbed his temple and looked at her. "Police girl... I think I dreamed of a memory."

Seras' eyes narrowed and an indignant frown formed.

"My name is Seras Victoria..." She added in an annoyed tone

"Drink the blood, then I might say your name." She rolled her eyes and changed the subject, "Well, what was the dream?"

The red-clad vampire sighed. He cocked a brow and scrunched his face to see if an explanation could be made "Well, it went something like this... There were a bunch of strange soldiers dressed in dark age equipment from all over coming to the mansion... like ghosts..."

"That sounds interesting." She answered in a dry and uninterested tone. As per usual with her sire.

"It was. I just wonder who that boy is..."

The young vampire had leaned back "What do you mean?"

The ancient vampire gave her an answer she would possibly be satisfied with. "He was someone I feel I've seen before. He had messy brown hair, almost as tall as I am, a scar over his right eye," Alucard traced his trigger finger over his eye and continued. "Then two smaller ones down his jaw. Like a claw slashing down his face. The bridge of his nose has a scar too. He had such a storied face... but the eyes... I saw the rage of hellfire in them. Like a green pasture being overtaken by flames from war." He looked distantly... far too distant for Seras to discern. "I must know who he is if he's real."

Seras smiled and cheered him up. "Well, if it makes you feel better... Walter talked about a mission to Brazil. But before that, we might have an assignment."

His wicked smile had spread on his face. "That sounds wonderful Police girl. Why don't you go train the soldiers while I go talk to Walter?" Seras was surprised at how giddy her master was. Maybe the dream unlocked something in his memories or clicked in him and made him a bit cheery. He calmly got up and shouldered his pistols as his fledgling walked out. She too had little idea of what to think. But, she was uncertain about her master all the time. He was a loose cannon and aloof at best, downright terrifying at worst. Then Seras raced off downstairs and Alucard did what he did best. Phase through walls and floors with no care given whatsoever. Walter was one of the few pleasantly surprised by this type of entrance. "Ah, Alucard. Integra has a mission for you in-" Alucard cut him off of course. "I know, the police girl told me." Walter sighed and looked out at the moon from his window in the old study with books lining the walls on shelves. They look at the mercs training there with Seras leading the regimen. 

Seras was never good at gathering kittens, considering she was one herself in a way. "What do you mean you can't hit a target a thousand meters away?!" She admonished Pip for his human iniquity. "You think my AK can hit that... that's funny. No... no normal soldier can hit that!" Pip wasn't having it. Neither would Seras. She grabbed her large rifle and fired in quick succession at the distant targets. "YES, you can!" Pip took his binos and looked... "No, you didn't" She looked at the radiated "Huh?" and looked with her vampiric sight. What she saw was... disappointing.

Pip, without regret, had said...

"All hostages are dead!" And he was rather astute in his observation. The disposable targets were in tatters... all of them. Seras let out a furious scream.   
  
Walter watched as they bickered and Alucard looked on too. He felt sad of course. It saddened Walter that this was happening when he lived in an era of mystery and what he considered strange. "I fear for our future... also. Did you hear about what Pip and Integra found several hours ago?" Alucard smiled and looked at his companion. "No. What would that be if I can ask?" Walter pulls out the photo they found. Alucard then scowled. "Damn, I wanted to forget about that. Those missions were so damn boring!" Walter shook his head. "Please don't complain about it again..." Alucard gave a befuddled look. "NO! I was sent to fight maggots masquerading as vampires and scum vampires in the Balkans when they rebelled. But no! The humans there decided to fight back! But I must say it was amusing to see them fight vampires head on though. The ones I saw in the first few days were practically suicidal or ran away and regrouped. Soon I could hardly find them at all. Like they just moved around like ghosts. The only way I found out where they were was by finding blood-soaked battlefields and smoke columns of villages that were overrun..." Walter had a shocked look on his face. he wasn't listening to Alucard's rant but he realized that the soldiers he spoke of evaded the most powerful vampire in existence as of this moment. "Really? Did they slip past **you**? Out of all vampires here...?" Walter shouted all skeptical like.

Alucard rolled his eyes. "Yes, they absolutely did!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and his face contorted into a snarl trying to forget the horror of being more bored in a depressingly mundane task. "I hated every damn moment that I wandered, aimlessly around Serbia, Bulgaria, Croatia, and Bosnia." 

Walter had wide eyes as he saw his undead colleague unravel his hidden anger about this. It was so... uncharacteristic.

Alucard looked into Walter's eyes with a cold gaze, "It. Was. Boring." He said with malice towards this lost memory.

The conversation would have continued but Seras burst in and yelled... "SEXUAL HARASSMENT! He's singing sexually explicit lyrics to a song to irk me!" She pointed at Pip and he just kept singing his obscene song. Much to the humor of Alucard and the shock of Seras. Walter just wanted to go home. The day was about to break and all was not calm in England. 

However, in America was all but silent suffering with a twist of calm like a knife thrust into one's side from behind... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a learning process and it's gonna be a long ride. It would be helpful for you to give tips on a place for the story to go for each chapter after chapter 2. Image source courtesy of Sandra Rogers from Pinterest. P.S. this is the closest photo to what I wanted for this description.  
> The Old English is spoken for the "Rose's diary part of the chapter are roughly translated to "Where is the migration building?" (That one was based on lost memory.)
> 
> The welsh spoken is from google translate so bear with it, please if you speak it.  
> The translation is as such: "FATHER! Why did you take up the sword from her?"  
> The last one in Welsh was: "Woe to them... I'll make them pay tenfold to what I had to pay."  
> The old English words come from Lingo jam and aren't that accurate but it's better than nothing. Plus the sudden switch to modern English is just for convenience plus.
> 
> Another thing, I just know a fuck ton of history, some cultures and it inspired me to try and adapt it into this area of fanfiction and in this first attempt is mostly an experiment to see how it works out. Please comment for more info on this. I'm basing this first fanfic on Dark Age British, Norse, and other myths from


	2. Like a bat outta hell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Integra learns the new age of politics the hard way through an accidental and deadly encounter with a powerful king just to the south of England across the channel. It will definitely get ugly...

**Rouen, Normandy. 4:00 A.M.**

A new kingdom just to the south of England and to the north of France had broken free, a king sits upon his throne where he fought the former corrupt French masters of his mercenary band and raided Paris. The castle was a large Norman keep near Rouen. This fort was built with the modern battle in mind. Tough walls, cannons, and machine-gun bunkers were surrounding the main keep. It was constructed after a month of raiding France and fighting local armies he and his army had won land for his men and a home of his own. He was Wilhelm Kristiansen. He had black hair in a Bijon style with a chin strap stubble beard. His patient blue eyes glowered down. He was listening to men dressed in Byzantine lamellar armor and had purple capes on while speaking. One of them was Basil. Basil was a well-built man with middle-parted auburn hair and a luxurious beard. His face was fatherly looking and gentle. His Bulgarian accent was smooth compared to Willhelm's rough Norwegian accent. And a spathion was in a scabbard that had gold decorations. The Spathion had a strange decorative guard. However, this was not important to the moment at hand...

That is when Basil had brought up the topic of interest to this meeting. Basil spoke first. "The Balkans had gathered us to discuss a treaty with Greece, Bulgaria, Northern Macedonia, Serbia, Dobruja, and Albania. We managed to make a confederative alliance called the Byzantine Confederation Alliance, we made it to defend from another vampire uprising if it is to happen again. I thought that you should be involved too. We wish to sign a pact of mutual defense with your kingdom William. We already signed one with the Spanish mercenaries."

Wilhelm had changed his name once he was coronated as Norman King to William. "Well... Basil, I will join. I'm gonna have to seal this with a deal. Just like I did with the Britons. I'll give weapons and other equipment. I also might get Joshua's brother involved. There have been rumors about an organization that caused the Kosovo uprisings two years ago. I'll give you files of it on the way out."

Basil gave a serious look. However, he dropped the look for a softer one.

"Wonderful! I also wish for you to represent us in a treaty of non-aggression with Turkey and Italy. They have been touting an aggressive stance with us since the Croatian raids and the Edirne border incident with Greece and Turkey. The meeting will be held in Rio De Janeiro in a hotel called "Lio De Janeiro"."

William scratched his beard.

"Of course. I will send my best diplomat to assist! I must thank you for this." He got up from his throne and shook his hand and waved his servant over towards them and requested that the servant show them to comfortable quarters. He waved off the Byzantine officers and representatives. 

"To think a thing like this can happen in the modern age... something else isn't it?" He mused to himself.

Suddenly the doors opened to the hall.

A norman knight with an attention-grabbing tunic and cloak came in. His dark brown hair was short and curly. He had a handsome face. "Bonjour William!"

William smiled. His most faithful knight of the Norman court had come. 

"Bonjour Geoffry!"

They had done the french custom of cheek kissing and embraced. 

The knight got on bended knee and bowed before his king. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon seigneur?"

William got him on his feet, not willing to make a subject too focused on etiquette. "Geoffry..." William lost his words. He was still learning French but had some basics and almost learned it.

Thankfully, Geoffry was understanding. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon seigneur?"

Wiliam sighed 

"Vous vous rendrez à Rio de Janeiro pour une sorte de mission diplomatique pour rencontrer les diplomates italiens et turcs pour leur apporter ce papier. C'est une demande de conférence de non-agression entre eux et l'Alliance de la Confédération byzantine."

Geoffry raised a brow and then bowed a final time before leaving, "Cela doit être fait."

William waved to him to say goodbye. "Que Dieu soit avec Vous!"

Geoffry left and got on his motorcycle with another Norman knight. He was a blonde swede with short hair. His name was Arn Sigurdson. He looked much more storied with his cheek scar and neutral grimace. they rode to the airport and went on a secure jet. Arn had brought out a folder. A name of a merchant was on there. "This is for when shit goes south. We follow the rules set and play by them, understand Geoffry?" Arn asked patiently. He pointed to the names and faces. They all were on the dossier given by the Byzantines. Just for good measure, of course.

Geoffry nodded.

"Good. Let's go then."

**Nebraska. 6:00 A.M. Constantine's Pov:**

Constantine awoke with his dog nuzzling him awake. The young man had a tear or two still hanging. He wiped them away.

That's what dreams are made of right?

"Hey, Tula. I had a bad dream again..."

He embraced his fluffy dog and it accepted his pain. They touched foreheads. Constantine had a picture of a tall red head man with rolling hills behind them. They were in their armor. Rodhri had scale armor and Constantine was in a long-sleeve chainmail shirt.

"You miss him too don't you? Rhodri left this country not long after we came home. Ava died before that. So did Adrian... Then Grandpa Anarawd died." 

Tula whined and hugged back in the way dogs can best do it. "I know boy... we still have Mom and Dad. They got back together and I put the pieces back together and got home. I could've followed Anaruat to Wales with Rhodri..."

He kissed the dog's head and sat up

"That part of my life is over now. I don't have to fight anymore. Let's see how mom and dad are, huh?" The good boy's ears perked up and he panted happily. 

"Yeah, come on Tula." He scooped up his faithful companion and carried him into the kitchen. It was a quaint-looking one. "Same as it ever was." He thought openly. He let out his dog and went to his room and walked up to his dresser.

He put on jeans. He looked back in the mirror... He saw the whip and other scars on his back. "I was too Goddamn reckless. How come I never died?"

He looked towards the east, it was still dark but the sun started to creep out. "Well, I was lucky... or just ballsy."

He then got his hair in his sense of order. Granted it was still shaggy and wild. His mother had given him the wild hair of course.

Then he put on a tight long sleeve gray shirt. "I think I grew again... I need to size my clothes up soon." Constantine then went to the main ranch house. He got close and the kitchen light was on. He looked east and saw the beginning of sunrise. He remembered his dog was outside and whistled for it as he walked to his first home. Which was only a hundred yards out. He looked at the sunrise again... a hopeful one maybe? Who knows. A new day can make a new man after all. 

His mother was getting the stove ready while dressed in a baggy sweater with shorts on. 

"Hey, Ma." He said warmly.

"Hey, hun, your father's asleep in our room. Go wake him up and say breakfast is ready." She answered with a high pitch Welsh-Midwestern accent. She said with a small smile on her cute, freckled face. Her wild red hair was ruffled up from a restless sleep it seems. She managed to stay fit for her 37 years of life. She could never be complacent with how her life was. She was too jittery and overactive for that. 

He walks through the rustic home and the hall going to the bedrooms. Photos of the happy family hung on the wall. One of Rhodri and Joshua teaching Constantine how to fish, another of his mother and father remarrying, and 

The master bedroom door was freshly painted and I turned the handle. I see my father's icon corner in the master bedroom. He still had a candle for prayer going. He looked to my left and saw my dad's Soviet-Afghan war metals shine in the display frame on the wall. He was apart of a Spetznaz unit from Volgograd and fought in that meatgrinder of a war. His mother met him after he was deported for criminal activity for speaking out against the war when he went to Wales. That was when Constantine's mom had adopted Joshua after her sister Irene had died and Joshua's father, Uther Pendragon was in jail. They fell madly in love and moved to Nebraska soon after.

After he snuffed it out he sees a muscled figure under the covers.

_Dad's mumbling and thrashing. Oh God, he's having a PTSD dream? Shit..._

"Father...?" 

He mumbled louder and more fitfully, "Dimitry, the mujahideen have us pinned! Stay down..." His gravelly, somewhat nasally, almost barking voice was frantic.

His son lightly shook him. "Dad..."

He kept sleep shouting, "ЗАКОННАЯ ракета на гребне!"

He started shaking harder and frothing at the mouth with tears rolling down. 

"О, Боже. Невский сдул!"

"DAD!"

He jolted awake and moved to grab his son's throat. His eyes were bloodshot...

However, it was stopped with a static block and a look into his brown eyes. His graying brown hair was frayed and in a mess. He looked into his son's eyes.

His eyes were wide as dinner plates and looked distraught. His Russian accent was still thick, his voice was now less rough and softer.

"Son... I'm so sorry. I thought."

"It's ok. Breakfast is ready and mom's waiting."

Constantine put his hand on his father's shoulder. His hands were scarred and there was a set of numbers tattooed onto the back of it. 

"Did you dream about Hill 2324 again?" Constantine asked with patience and care.

"Da... I did. It was the same thing too." His dad frowned hard... really hard. 

His son seemed to hesitate on saying something but he also looked down and squinted his eyes. He also had the same traumatic dream every night with his own experiences. 

"You're not the only one dad."

His father looked at him. How would he be able to relate? 

"It's too painful to talk about now but it was.... it was really bad."

His dad's eyes widened in realization, able to recognize pain...

"Constantine, I didn't know..."

Constantine looked up. "I was gonna tell you that breakfast is ready. So... you know... Mom's waiting for us." 

"Of course... We'll go."

His father grabbed some khakis and his son got out towards the kitchen. "He's coming Mom!"

He walks in and takes a seat. "That's good. The bacon will be done soon anyway." Her son took a whiff. "Smells pretty damn good." His mom giggled with a smirk. "Oh, you...! How many times did my ma tell you off on cursing?" She grabbed a wood spoon and tapped him on the head and he laughed. "Too many times." Constantine got up and got the plates out of the cupboard and placed them next to the oven on the counter. "Here, saves you a trip." [TBC]

Soon a knock was heard and Constantine went to see who it was. "Hey, Constantine." It was Zak. His short, but swept back and shaggy blonde hair was swept back and he was clean-shaven. He was skinnier but don't let that fool anyone. He was also shorter as well. He kicked one of his high school bully's teeth in once. He wore a hoodie with jeans. Common attire in Nebraska really. "Hey, we have breakfast. Wanna join in?" Constantine offered with a feeling of obligation in his voice.

"Yeah, why not? It's a great morning." He said as he came in. Constantine's parents were less hostile to surprise visits from good friends or even neighbors but it was quite uncommon in this day and age. "Hello Zakaria, come take a seat!" Constantine's mother beamed. "Thank you."

Zak walked in through the doorway and the two seated themselves down and Constantine's father was looking more presentable with neat, hair in the style of a crew cut. His father had some stubble on his face but 

Hours passed. Constantine and Zak visited for a bit. Catching up on certain events and whatnot.

"So, I was actually getting back from college. I managed to finish half of my degree because I got good grades. So I say that I'll take the win on that."

Constantine nodded.

"My brother's lessons in metalworking and forging have helped make money for my rent and the stuff I have to do. Better than the fucking factory job we had."

His fair-haired friend chuckled. Then Zak remembered something. "Hey, you got a letter."Constantine's eyes widened slightly. "Really? Who's it from?" Zak handed it to him. It was from the Danelaw in Northumbria, from Guthred and Cnut. Good friends of Constantine's dead brother and now his pen pals and good acquaintances.

"I'll read this soon but we should go somewhere. You wanna go to my pad or somewhere else?" Constantine offered. Zak gave a contemplative look. "Let's go on a highway and see where the road takes us. Just for an hour or so." They had ridden for that time down I-80 from up North and found a diner to sit in a diner. It was tacky but a rest stop is a rest stop. A few hicks entered with a few of them having confederate patches on their hats or jackets. " _Fucking rednecks_ ," Zak swore to himself. They sat near a black waitress and whispered while looking at her. The boys stay outside of the stuffy air. They took a seat outside and the waitress came up from the counter. She seemed new to the diner scene for her job because she was getting a bit sidetracked. "Welcome to Bertha's Diner. What can I get for you?" She had a southern belle accent, she must have been used to the jeers of the hillbillies there. They turned to her in their seats. Constantine gave his order of coffee with a smile and Zak did the same. She had walked back and got a few suspicious glares from the rednecks. Zak, Constantine, Houston, and TJ had detested stereotypical country hicks. But they liked normal rednecks that paid little heed to the color of your skin or the way you lived. If they had caught those backward sons of bitches at Kosovo they probably would have killed them or made them vampire lures. As they drank coffee at a secluded table they had exchanged thoughts and memories of Kosovo. 

"I still dream of _that_ day." He said calmly over the chatter of oblivious passers-by and stressed patrons. "You do? Which one though, the one night at Dobruja or _the other day?"_ He thought about Zak's words. " _The other day._ " He admitted. "Dude. We all have baggage from there. I know you lost a lot but we need to move on." Zak said softly and wisely. "I know, but all the rage is still there. I still remember and get the urge to fight something... or cry. I want a fight but I can't look for trouble. And... it's only been a few months since I lost even more loved ones." He stated in a pained, whispering tone. He still had to honor a nondisclosure agreement. Zak took a sip. "Well... there are some opportunities in Scandinavia. You could go with Jarl Harald Sigurdson to raid the Baltic or England if he called up his levy when you get there. I mean, there has been a lot of Viking activity in the North Sea and North America. The U.S. navy has gotten the treatment of 'a bedsheet over the head and got throat fucked' thing from the Norsemen." 

What he said was true. A few weeks ago 4,000 servicemen were lost the past two months since Harald raided out of revenge for the sinking of a trade ship from Norway near Greenland. The navy in the Atlantic was crippled. "These are certainly strange times we live in."

All of their exploits and dreams they had. Zak thought about staying with Guthred or Cnut. "I wanted to go with Rhodri when he went with Anaruat and became a lord over in Gwynedd. At least they have people with brains over in Wales and...well anywhere else than here." Zak twittered. "Yeah, those Celts know how to have a wild time." Constantine nodded remembering Rhodri and Josh getting drunk and wrestling while they roamed the highlands around their home. "Yeah, they did." Constantine got the letter from earlier out and opened it. His eyes opened with excitement and a slasher grin. "Look at this." Zak did and had a smirk similar to Constantine's. This was when the waitress had come back with the coffee. "Here honey. Enjoy your coffee while I get your checks." Zakaria and Constantine nodded. "Thanks, ma'am" Beamed Constantine in his gruff midwestern accent. She walked off one more time and the same rednecks had glared harder. 

_THUMP!_

The Chud fell on his ass. The others looked at their fallen comrade. "So, you fucking hicks wanna go?" The others looked on with rage but soon looked at him more. "WELL?! I'm waiting for one of you "good ole' boys" to take a swing. Come one... don't be shy." He gave an evil smirk that revealed his pointy and mildly long canines. "Come on..." They looked on in fear and withdrawal. "We don't want no trouble." The taller and fatter one said. "Really? Then get out." They scrambled out and got on their trucks and you could hear them gun their engines a mile away. The waitress had no words. "Hey... take this lady." Constantine handed out a big wad of cash. She looked on questioningly as if this was something that never happened to her before. "Go, take it. You need it more than I do. I know the world seems so dark and cruel, but remember that there is always someone there that can catch you when you're pushed." Her lip pursed. "Thanks... I... I don't know what to say." She took it and smiled, taking the words and money to heart. Constantine and his friend finished up and left. He had read the letter and found about his pen pal's exploits...

Cnut found a way to weasel his way into the Danish throne and became king and Guthred became the grand governor of Northumbria or known as the Danelaw now. So much had changed for them...

**London.**

It was cold in the Hellsing manor. Something felt off. There were no signs of an attack coming. The past few months have been calm but rather tense. The Queen had to lessen her attention to domestic and foreign concerns. Integra has heard whispers of some political tomfoolery for a few months now she had been hearing about contested battle lines in the political ring. The English part of parliament was being challenged by the Welsh counties and provinces. Wales and the surrounding territories have changed in the past two years. The ancient cultural revival movement has taken western Britain by storm. It was almost threatening the inner core English provinces. Then there were the new settlements around York and northern Northumbria. It was unclear of their status in the United Kingdom but it mattered little. Alucard was sent away to Brazil. Now all Integra could do was relax for a day or two.

Integra and Walter sat in the main office and Integrareads a newspaper. It stated the usual... the economy, healthcare concerns, and a few articles about hate groups in England. 

She sighed at the last few articles. "Such petty things..." She sipped her tea.

Walter sat contently across her. "Well, it's strange things like that I try to not focus on." This had earned a nod from Integra. After all, what is a life worth when it is spent on hate?

She skimmed along with headlines again but found something... "Huh. Interesting... Walter, look at this." She handed the paper to him and his eyes widened a tad.

The article read, "Welsh and Scottish independence movements gain steam after 25 years of decline in support." Walter had an incredulous grin. "This is interesting. I thought after they exiled the leader of that movement to Northern Macedonia that the movement collapsed. " Integra took a puff of her cigar as the sun shone through the window. "I guess not." 

Walter then shifted the newspaper again. "It also says that the new Norman king sent himself on a diplomatic trade deal to Wales and that parliament was a bit irate on the matter. The typical line from the Prime minister would be "they are a vassal sworn to England and can't make treaties without our say so". Apparently, it caused a huge conflict of interest because the Norman king had just won his independence from France along with Britanny as a vassal state to them. The new Norman Kingdom holds Normandy and the Northeast coast of France. This is awfully intriguing.", "I must agree Walter. I need to pay more attention to this sort of thing more often." She then set her cigar down and finished her tea. Sunrise is a few hours away.

Far away, 'cross the sea. Constantine works hard at home with his friend Houston. He has been rough shaping a pommel for a sword. Houston's curled hair was a mess as sweat poured out. They were making a gift for Zakaria's birthday. 

*TINK!* *CLANG!*

"Houston, how's the crossguard coming? I have the Oakeshott type A pommel done!"

Houston was putting it through heating in the furnace. "Good. I should be able to finish it up here soon. I just have to use the hammer on it." He takes the red hot bar of steel out and sets it on the anvil with a hammer in hand. He started striking hard. It sent sparks and took form. He struck around an upswept cruciform direction to make it take that shape and it didn't take long for it to do so. "Looks good. Now we just gotta get the blade in the hot oil bath for an hour." Constantine grabbed the blade and set it in the tube. "Okay, now we wait... So Houston, have you managed to see if you could contact your old girlfriend we met when we raided that little Vatican holdout in Croatia?"

Houston had a wide and happy smile "Yeah I need to call her sometime. I missed her so much. The way her long black hair would cover our faces when she would be over me while we made out. It was great. Oh... I can't even begin to describe the feeling of looking into her beautiful somewhat purple eyes. She must have been so beautiful under those nun robes... I'm going to hell aren't I?"

Constantine gave a hearty laugh and they talked for a bit more. About some things and all that. "So I was pulling into high school and you know that bitch ass freshmen Blake?", "Yeah, I the candy-ass that squares up on everyone?"

Constantine nodded and pointed a bottle of mead at his friend, "Yeah, he told me that he would fight TJ and that he'd whoop his ass when I showed him around the school when he heard the rich jocks smack talking. He just transferred from Omaha Public and I showed him who he was talking trash about and he nearly shit his pants when he sees this six-foot and nine-inch goliath looking down at this scrawny little twig. He also talks like he's from a ghetto too, even though he's a rich bitchboy." Houston shook his head, "I don't get that. Why people just do dumb shit like that. Or even how people like that are functioning members of society." Constantine then grabbed a TV. and turned it on after he got the blade out of the tube. "Looks good. Zak's about to have his own ulfberht too." 

He flipped on the news and the usual monotony of local politics or worse yet Washington politics was broken up by a bigger story 

The anchorman was a thickset man and he spoke softly, "... Many people in the hotel "Lio De Janeiro" have been killed and 10 people were taken, hostage. The man-woman pair have powerful guns and have taken hold in the penthouse. The man is J.H. Blenner and the woman is not known.

One was a Woman in a weird yellow military parade outfit. The other was some Ozzy Ozborne mother fucker... seems familiar. "Houston what's that all about?" 

"OH SHIT! _Hwaet the fuck_?"

The camera shifts to the window they were spotted in and a few flashes were seen and a broken corpse of a tall man fell on the broken glass. 

"Damn that's overkill," Constantine stated dumbfounded. 

Then a deep, booming voice with a more natural American accent was heard behind the two boys. "Shit, the fuck is goin' on here?" It was Thorvald Karlsefni. Or as he goes by "TJ". He definitely was a giant all right. His strong features had a more soft and inviting expression. His skin was a bit tanned from farm work. His gold eyes accompanied his thick, brown hair. He had his hair tied with a bandana to stick it up. His shoes thundered as he stepped up to see the TV. "Hey, Thorvald. Sup?" Constantine asked. Thorvald was gonna say something but...

"Damn... He's getting back up!" He exclaimed while pointing at the TV. These friends then looked on in awe as the red-clad, Ozzy Osbourne looking bastard had risen to his feet in a swirl of shadows...

"This is bullshit dude," Houston stated as he let his head slam onto the table out of frustration. "It's gotta be hell in there dude..."

* * *

Inside the hotel was worse... and oh God it was so much worse...

Geoffry had heard screams on the upper floors and got out of his room. Arn sprang to action as well. The gunshots were deafening. Earlier the negotiations for the non-aggression pacts went fast and well. But God only knows what would happen if the deal dies with them. The Turkish and Italian emissaries had their guns drawn.

The scene was chaotic as they looked. Arn shouted with arming sword in hand and pistol in his left hand, His voice thundered as well. "I'm going to find some help! You better find some survivors!" His tongue rolls and rasp was aggressive as he let his frustration be known. 

Geoffry was the first to nod. "Ok. I'll go get some if there are any!" Geoffry raced off to the lounge and had the Italian and Turk following close while Geoffry had his SMG loaded. A SWAT soldier stumbled out of the hallway and saw them. He had a massive bullet hole in his side. 

Geoffry's jaw slacked.

"Dieu, help us... what happened to you?" The wounded man couldn't speak as a bullet blasted through his dome. 

The Turk cried out and the Italian grunted in frustration. 

Geoffry knew what type of creature could use such weaponry and cruelty. A bead of sweat rolled down. 

A tall, pale man walked forth with a red duster flowing at his legs. He had a grimace. Then turned to Geoffry with a wicked smile. His heart pounded in his head as he stood and resisted the urge to shoot. He knew these types. They look for fighters, not thinkers. 

He turned his head towards the knight from Normandy. His smile was wide as he looked him over. "Regarde toi. Vous portez des vêtements différents des autres. Comme c'est amusant."

The other two started blasting at this vampire, not knowing what he was. "Fuck." Geoffry said, hoping to not die.

This massive beast held two oversized hand cannons. One was iron colored and the other was black. He raised them at the men

Two deafening shots rang forth. And a few smaller shots went off... Geoffry had no time to react but had time to see what went down. But he felt two thuds at his side and near his heart.

The two ambassadors behind him had their brains scattered but their guns had fired at him. No wonder why it hit so hard. "Oh... God." He had said weakly. 

Geoffry looked down as he felt warm liquid roll down in great amounts. Still standing, he breathed hard as blood dripped from his mouth. He didn't even fight the vampire and it didn't even aim for him. The red devil stepped up and stood a bit taller than him. "Well, I was hoping for more. You seem very amusing." He had said in a soft baritone voice. The young Norman had looked on in what wasn't fear, but rather loss. "You have no idea what you did... idiot!" He swayed and staggered to the ground. He held his wounds for a second as he coughed up more blood. It felt like a fire had burned up inside. Hollowpoints can do that as it tears people up inside. "Goddamn, you... are a massive dumbass." Alucard had just looked at him with a cruel smile. "very amusing indeed. Now, tell me what you were doing. Or I'll put one more bullet in you. In between the eyes if you're wondering." He had commanded with great patience in his voice. "Do it yourself you fucking monster!" Geoffry spat back. "Tsk!" Alucard opted to drink it from him instead. He opened his mouth and his fangs found their target with his eyes as the guiding system of his hunger. He growled as he sunk his fangs into his tensed neck. 

Geoffry screamed out in agony, on top of his gunshot wounds it was hell. Burning and the sucking feeling of this Goddamn, oversized leech on his neck just helping itself. The vision had started to blur and the pain dulled. Then the memories came. His first steps, his mother and father dancing, and his first kiss after a dance. Look, it's the neighbor's dog! It was all a cruel retelling of his life at the hand of an undead killer. They came and went and tears that could rust bullets streamed down. Then the briefing of his mission came. That was the last thing. Alucard was satisfied with all the info he needed. "Hm. Disappointing. I must say that I do apologize." Geoffry looked at him with disgust.

"How dare you?!" He shouted with venom dripping from his tone. He started to seize up and convulse. "You BASTARD." He let out a groan and finally breathed out as he was drained and taken as a familiar... then died. 

The tall vampire looked at his former prey. "How pitiful." Then Alucard walked out of there and made his way to the front. First, he had commanded his shadows to gather some swat officers and threw them out the window. They screamed as they were flung out and then were impaled on the flag poles out front as cameramen swiveled their cameras around... just in time for a blood bath. Alucard gave his grand entrance and met a man in a tan suit with a tan fedora. 

* * *

Arn had evacuated several civilians out of there and rushed back inside and heard two large bangs near where he last saw Geoffry. The hall was splattered with blood. It seemed as if death itself had gone through and swung its scythe in this field of judgment. "What is Thor's name?" Arn managed to whisper out. He had seen many bloody battles but he still got chills. His arming sword felt light as his adrenaline had kicked in. He made it to the scene in question and his jaw slackened. The Italian and Turkish ambassadors had gotten their heads blown apart and Geoffry had two fatal gunshot wounds. Geoffry looked afraid of what was in front of him. That horror was long gone but so was Geoffry's life. However, the bullet holes were angles as if he were shot by the other ambassadors. The Turk had his gun aimed to the right side while the Italian had shot Geoffry's heart. Arn started to paint the picture of what happened but it was all going too fast. However, he did not notice the bite on his neck. He was too enraged to notice much right now. He stormed off to the place he was before. His room was left untouched by the chaos outside.

He decided to go to his room in a dress for battle. Chainmail hauberk under a bulletproof vest was the armor that he had used before. He made a mad dash for his room... An escape plan was formulated with help from the folder William gave. It could be speculated later but one name was remembered. Leon Skylitzes. A burly Greek who has a small freighter that can sail him to Greenland and then to Normandy. He was thinking a million miles an hour as he put on his armor. He then got ready to run but before he did, he had looked at the TV as he grabbed his smg and pistol. Two well-dressed men stood at attention to each other with the police shield wall behind them.

"What the hell? Why does all this crazy shit happen to me?!" He questioned angrily. But he cared little because his mission had now changed. Bring the news to King William that Geoffry was slain in vain and say how it happened was his objective now. That's all that mattered to him at this tense moment. After taking a glance at the TV he saw his large motorcycle was to the side part of the lot. He would have to get past these two opposing forces somehow. "They're in front of where my motorcycle is and I've gotta find a way out. AH, SHIT!" He cursed and thought it over for more of a clear idea on how to get out of this. He had then run out in a desperate hurry. He had finally bound out towards the lobby and got his rifle out, cocked it, put a bayonet on it, and ran harder towards the glass doors. The two mystery men then looked at his rage-filled man surge forward with no prejudice for who is friend or foe.

* * *

Pip had slit a GATE operative's throat and took his uniform after getting out of his sleazy hotel and onto the scene of the siege of the hotel. Pip's objective was simple... find the command tent, kill the corrupt officials in there, steal a helicopter after using an _explosive_ distraction, and get the hell out with the big red vampire and his _Mon Cherie_. 

Pip hummed to himself when the tent finally came into the manic scene. Soldiers rushed around trying to prepare for the hell that would have ensued. It was quite silly really. Pip just opened the flap and heard two senior commanders and officials speaking amongst each other. "Tubulcain might lose the fight. How will we get our immortality then?" The heavyset one with a mustache looked up at his younger, concerned counterpart. "He'll be alright. The fight looks to be in Alhambra's favor... though it would be bad if... huh?" 

Pip stepped through and drew his silenced pistol out.

**Pop! Pop!**

The bullets had punched through the two officials and had silenced them. The radio operators heard the small noises of suppressed rounds but were silently cut down as well. Pip gave no remorse nor grief. It was his job after all. _But he loved it._ He whipped out a C4 pack and set it on the table. "This outta get 'em a chance to _s_ _hine._ " Pip snickered as he threw off the mask and walked out onto the street.

**BOOM!**

The bomb's detonation racked the area and Pip, as he usually did in these moments, gave no care at all. Screams of the wounded howled around him. The soldiers and officers around became even more frantic. One had a few bleeding wounds and searched for a medic. But then Pip looked towards the lot of the hotel and saw Alucard and Alhambra still there. "What're those idiots doing..." They looked at the glass doors as if intrigued by something. Pip's radio suddenly beeped. A high-pitched cockney accent "Pip, what's going on out there? I'm sensing something!" His Mignonette had contacted him through the radio. He was trying to go through this radio silent but not this time. Something's off. 

Seras was nervous and he had to answer. "Hey... I have no idea what's going on but..."

Then the glass doors shattered and a glittering mass surged forward and down the stairs. Pip squinted to see what this was. "Mon Dieu..." It was someone in chainmail with a rifle, who was now rushing to the side and ran towards a non-blockaded part of the parking lot.

* * *

He had gathered the courage to do it. He charged out to escape. The two, tall mystery men looked gobsmacked at this surprise exit. He heard a Brazilian accent spit poisoned words. "Dumb bastard." The one in the tan clothing had lazily flicked his wrist. A shimmer of something moved with extreme speed. It hit Arn... but he didn't fall. Nor did he falter. He kept striding. Arn looked back at the two as they stood in shock. "They're fucking vampires... Ok... Not cool." 

* * *

Alucard's jaw went slack. No words could explain how confused he was. This man he didn't know... took a card from this "Alhambra" guy to the ribs and kept going like nothing happened. His armor was thick enough to stop it and he took the shock like a champ too. He felt a few butterflies in his stomach and laughed. Alhambra had looked at him with concern. "This is amusing... too amusing" This man ran to the side of the parking lot and Alucard decided to test the man's mettle... He aimed with the Jackal and let his wry grin show. Tubulcain gave a worried look. "That's gonna be overkill man." Really? 

* * *

Arn was legging it. And I mean _legging_ it. He was frantically humming _"Stayin' alive"_ now. All he could do was that, or pray. 

**BANG!**

Arn stumbled from the explosion next to him. Something warm was dripping and trailing from the side of his head. Is it blood? Arn felt it as he got back to running. It burned badly... he looked at his fingers and saw his suspicions confirmed. "Blood? Just perfect!" He finally cleared the beginning of the parking lot. Cops fired... Arn covered his head with his arms and caught fire with no consequences immediately felt. But the blunt impact sure hurt. The bike was now in front of him. Dear God, it's so close but so far! He finally reached it, hopped on, and turned it on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: Oui mon Seigneur?- Yes, my lord?  
> Ravi de vous voir, Geoffry. Viens, j'ai une mission pour toi.- It is good to see you, Geoffry. Come, I have a mission for you.
> 
> Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon seigneur?- What is it, My lord?  
> Vous vous rendrez à Rio de Janeiro pour une sorte de mission diplomatique pour rencontrer les diplomates italiens et turcs pour leur apporter ce papier. C'est une demande de conférence de non-agression entre eux et l'Alliance de la Confédération byzantine.-You will go to Rio De Janeiro on a diplomatic sort of mission to meet the Italian and Turkish diplomats to bring this paper to them. It is a non-aggression conference request between them and the Byzantine Confederation Alliance.
> 
> Cela doit être fait.- It shall be done.
> 
> Que Dieu soit avec vous!- May God be with you!  
> Regarde toi. Vous portez des vêtements différents des autres. Comme c'est amusant.- Look at you. You wear different clothes than the rest. How amusing.
> 
> Hwaet is what in old English
> 
> Side note: I will have to update these chapters and edit along the way to see if improvements can be made. You could also make suggestions as well. Don't be afraid to comment. I welcome criticism with open arms.  
> I honestly am gonna have a tough time writing this and it's kinda weird to write but I've got some practice now.


End file.
